


How They Happened

by Lemon_drop_lantana



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Okay y'all these tags are dark but the story isn't so dark, Physical Abuse, Teenagers, This is a love story, and more!, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29750496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_drop_lantana/pseuds/Lemon_drop_lantana
Summary: The story of Rude and Reno, pre-Shinra.
Relationships: Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 61





	1. August '94

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying my hand at long fic and I'm overwhelmed. Please give me feedback!
> 
> Per the tags, there's some dark shit that happens in this story, but mostly it's going to be referenced/implied or handled lightly, rather than rolling around in it. 
> 
> Also, Reno and Rude are 15 and 17 at the beginning of the story so if it's gonna bother you for them to be in explicit sexual situations please don't read!

The apartment isn’t too run down. It’s one of the better options in the sector six slums. And it’s not cheap. Not for Rude.

He stopped going to school three months ago so he could get a job hauling scrap metal around junkyards. The work is punishing. He starts wearing gloves on his hands all the time—to protect them at work, of course, but also to hide the cuts, blisters, and calluses the rest of the time. Even covered by leather, his hands get torn up. And then they get stronger.

He learns to fight quickly. At least, he learns that he _needs_ to fight quickly. Wererats are the least of his worries. There’s a lot of nasty stuff living in junkyards and you can’t do the job if you’re always running away. He’s complete shit at first and gets bitten and scratched a lot. Has to wear long pants and sleeves all the time to hide the marks from his parents. Occasionally his face gets injured and he has to lie and say he got in a fight at school. Hope his dad doesn’t give him a black eye to match.

Most of the other men working in the junkyard are much older. They laugh at him and call him “string bean.” He has probably grown five inches in the past year. He’s nearly as tall as his father, though only half as broad. But hauling iron around all day certainly helps put on some muscle. And he gets better at the fighting. He knocks the shit out of one asshole who keeps calling him “the big dumb mute” and feels like a grown man. The wererats are nothing compared to the men.

When he has enough gil saved up, Rude puts down two months’ rent on the apartment. He has to play hooky for a day to travel across three sectors and back. It doesn’t matter. He’ll abandon this job soon anyway. What gil is left, tucked away in the toe of an old shoe in his closet, is meager. _Maybe_ enough for one month’s worth of food. He worries that he should have picked a cheaper place, but how could he take his mom to live in a hole in the slums? They don’t live rich now, but well enough. He doesn’t think he can subject her to the rats and the leaks and the mold and the junkies he saw that Saturday, months ago, when he went to look at the options. And he doesn’t have time for second guessing. No time to lose his nerve.

Rude goes into the weekend with anticipation and dread. He has no plans. Other than the big one, that is. He’s distanced himself from his few friends already. Job. Family. There are lots of reasons. He’s always been more focused and serious than the other kids his age. Lately even more so. For a long time it was about holding everything together. Now it’s about breaking things apart.

When his dad starts bitching about work and pulls the bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet, his mom shoots him a look. He goes to his room and locks the door like she’s told him to do a thousand times. It’s worse for both of them when he tries to help.

He wants to feel angry, but he’s too tired. Instead, he’s just anxious. Ready to jump out of his skin. Ready to jump into a new life.

The sounds are surprisingly quiet until he hears the familiar slam of the front door. His father has gone to do whatever it is that he does when he leaves angry. Drink more. Get into bar fights. Rude doesn’t care.

When he emerges from his room, his mom is already sitting on the couch with a bag of frozen corn on her cheek. He can’t guess how many bruises there might be on her arms and legs. Just a regular Saturday evening. 

When Rude walks out she looks at him and smiles. “You’ve gotten so tall this past year. You look like your father when he was younger.” She pauses for a few beats like she often does. “But more handsome.”

“I’m nothing like him,” Rude reproaches. It’s hard not to be angry with her. How many times have they done this over the years?

“No.” she agrees. Her tone is neutral, as if there’s no value in that statement.

“I’m leaving.”

His mother is silent. She’s in her mid-thirties but looks young for her age. Still trim and girlishly pretty, with tan skin and hazel eyes tending towards amber. They are unusual. He gets his eyes and his freckles from her. 

Perhaps his silence too. His mom has always been just a little bit strange. It took him years to realize it. She’s smart. He knows she’s smart. But she doesn’t speak much, and when she does it’s slow and careful, like the words are precious. She moves at a different pace than the world around her. Just slightly out of sync.

“I’m leaving and you’re coming with me. It’s all set up. We’re going right now.”

“Rudy,” she starts. He can tell it’s not an agreement so he cuts her off.

“Stop. I’m not leaving without you. Go pack a bag.”

Rude didn’t tell her because she couldn’t have helped. Planning was never his mother’s strong suit. And knowing would have stressed her out.

He watches from the doorway of the bedroom while his mother robotically stuffs some clothes in a duffel bag. Her toothbrush. Her hairbrush. She packs like they’re going away for a long weekend. He opens her jewelry box and pockets the few nice pieces she has. He grabs a few, various treasures they’ve squirreled away, she and him. Shared secrets.

And that’s it. They don’t exchange any more words as they leave the apartment for the last time. Rude already has the train tickets to get them to sector six.

* * *

The first two weeks go by slowly. Rude’s mother doesn’t leave the apartment for three days. She spends a shocking amount of time sleeping on the bare mattress in her room. She keeps apologizing.

“I’m sorry Rude. I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“It’s fine, Mom. Rest.”

They’ve never needed many words between them. It was his father who filled up all the airtime. Maybe she’s been even more worn down than he realized. Maybe she’s as overwhelmed as he is at the realization that they are starting from _nothing._ Maybe she can’t figure out what to do next.

Rude gets groceries, soap, and toothpaste at the tiny store down the street. They don’t even have towels or sheets but the apartment was partially furnished so at least they’re not sleeping on the floor. After showering, Rude drips dry and pulls on his clothes over damp skin. He cooks all their meals with a single pan and serves them on two chipped plates that were left in one of the cabinets. And he sleeps each night on the couch in the living room. He does have his own tiny bedroom, with his own bed. But he’s too afraid that she’ll leave. He doesn’t know why she would. But.

He stays near the door.

On the fourth day, he wakes up to her scooching his hips over so she can sit on the couch with him. She touches his cheek.

“You’re worried,” she murmurs.

“Yeah.”

“You think I’ll leave.”

“Yeah.”

Her hand finds his on the couch and squeezes it. “I won’t.” His breath eases slightly in his chest. She doesn’t lie. “You think we can get by?”

“We can, Mom.”

“Of course, Rude. I'll… get a job. Take care of you.” 

“We’ll take care of each other, Mom.”

* * *

By the end of the first month, they’re both employed. His mom quickly gives up the fight on sending him back to school. She isn’t one to argue—she runs out of words too easily. But she does cry a bit when she realizes he quit school months ago.

Rude gets a job loading and unloading trucks at a warehouse for canned goods—which are incredibly heavy. Most of the men who work there look like weightlifters. He wonders how long it will take him to have muscles like that. It appeals to Rude to be strong.

Rude’s mom hasn’t worked since she was a teenager. She gets a job working the register at the corner grocer. Then after looking at their budget she starts picking up night shifts waitressing at a local diner. Many days she’s working from 8am to 11pm. She frequently brings home groceries from work—stuff nearly expired— but Rude does a lot of the cooking. He leaves dinner out on the counter for her when she works late.

The warehouse where he works is on the edge of the sector and Rude has a long walk to and from work every day. He takes different streets daily, poking around his new neighborhood like a tourist. It’s certainly seedier than he’s used to. He still looks young enough, or poor enough, that the whores leave him alone, but he gets lots of offers of drugs, weapons, potions, and other shit.

He sees one kid in particular several times a week—always in different places. Sprawled back on some stairs or leaning against the corner of an alley with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He’s around more often in the evening, but sometimes in the morning, too, looking tired and worn. He has pale skin and auburn hair that is years from its last haircut, hanging in locks around his face and down his back in a tail. 

He’s scrawny and definitely younger than Rude, although it’s hard to pin down an age. He dresses so sloppily it looks like the half-buttoned clothes might just fall off his narrow frame. If Rude were to guess, he’d say the kid is one notch above homeless. But he’s always working.

Rude always knows when the redhead is around because he greets Rude with the same sly, teasing drawl every time.

“Heyyyy, big guy.”

And then comes the offer. “Whattdya need today? Got some dust—very pure.” or “Streets are dangerous, you need a weapon?” Rude has been offered materia, an antidote, a bag of what _might_ have been gumdrops, and a black silk tie. “It’s got a lotta uses,” Rude is told with a wink.

Rude never slows down. Always says “No thank you.” Keeps going. There are lots of street “vendors” on his route, but the redhead makes an impression with his tenacity. Some days he’ll walk with Rude a whole block, talking up whatever’s in his hand that day with a steady stream of chatter.

The second Friday after he starts at the warehouse is payday, and Rude walks home in the dim twilight of the slums, thinking about how to use the money. He needs steel-toed boots for sure. It would be nice to eat some more meat. They still need bedding and towels. He sighs to himself. It takes so much to build a life and their current situation is as fragile as cobwebs.

He’s more than halfway home when the familiar street rat sidles up beside him.

“Heeyyyy there, big guy,” he says, taking long strides to keep up. “I’ve got just the thing for you today.”

Rude looks down and slows just enough for the kid to dart in front of him on the sidewalk. He holds out a small bouquet of roses, shaking them back and forth. They’re fresh and bright red. An unusual sight in the slums.

“Ehh?” He gives Rude a winning smile. “Strapping guy like you surely has a girlfriend.” Puts a hand out to smack against Rude’s bicep. “Or you can at least get one with these…”

“No, thank you.” Rude tries to step around him but the kid shifts in front of him again and Rude knocks into him hard enough that he falls back on his ass.

“Well then… nevermind,” the kid mutters sliding both hands into his pockets. The roses have scattered on the sidewalk.

Rude knows this game. He sighs and hauls the redhead up by his dirty shirt. Doesn’t let go of him. Looks him right in the eyes—pale blue irises shining fluorescent in the yellow street light.

“I’d like my wallet back.”

“Oh… uh…” The kid has the grace to blush. He hesitates only a beat before grabbing Rude by the back of the neck and surging up to kiss him on the mouth. It’s quick, hard, and half off his mouth but it sends an odd jolt through Rude’s chest.

But it’s nothing but a distraction as the kid throws Rude’s wallet backwards to a confederate standing a few yards behind him. The second thief immediately turns and sprints off down the street.

“Fuck,” Rude snaps out. Shoving the redhead away, he considers taking off after the kid with his wallet but realizes quickly he’ll never catch up. He spins to grab the first kid again, the one who kissed him, but he’s already turning the corner of the nearest alley. Rude is fucked.

“Dammit.” The street is now nearly empty. A few other workers on their way home walk by, avoiding looking at him. Nobody wants to be a part of trouble in the slums. Two weeks’ pay in that wallet. Rude wants to bang his head into the wall. He should have been more careful walking home on a Friday.

He picks up the three red roses left abandoned on the cement. Roses and a kiss and it only cost him 500 gil.

* * *

Rude doesn’t tell his mother. He feels too stupid and it’s easy enough to go to bed before she gets home. He leaves the roses in a cup of water on the kitchen counter next to her dinner and lays in his bed, feeling defeated. He’ll pull from his stash and they can eat cheap for two weeks, until he can make it up. His goal is to keep at least one month’s worth of expenses in cash all the time. For emergencies, he supposes, like this.

The next day he asks his boss about overtime. He hopes that a few weeks working extra shifts can make up for the stolen wallet. His boss agrees with a keen look.

“You in trouble, kid?”

“No sir. Just want the cash.”

Working extra shifts is a lot harder than Rude expected. He hadn’t realized that each _additional_ hour spent hauling around heavy boxes compounds all the hours before. He knows he’ll be sore as he stumbles home after the first day, but he doesn’t expect the bone-deep ache he feels upon waking the next morning. By the third day of double shifts, his arms feel bruised and swollen. He’s gonna get stronger a lot faster this way, unless he ends up tearing something.

Up with the sun, and home after sunset, but still before his mother, Rude keeps an eye out for the brat who stole his wallet. He isn’t sure what exactly he plans to do if he finds him. The money is long gone—spent on drugs, or, more likely, food—and there’s not much benefit to be had in knocking the little shit around. He still looks, but he finds nothing. Kid’s probably smart enough to avoid him.

There must be ten different routes home, all with similar distance, given the odd way paths twist through the sector six slums. Even more if he’s willing to go through the alleys, and some days he is. Some days it feels safer in the dark than in the yellow-lit streets.

It’s Friday, exactly a week later, when they run into each other. It’s actually the kid that runs into Rude. Straight into him after he comes sprinting around a corner with his head turned back, hair whipping around behind him.

He bounces off Rude’s chest with a quiet _ooof_ and his eyes widen slightly as they raise up to take in his face.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers, trying to dodge around Rude, but Rude’s reflexes are quick and he grabs the redhead by the back of his shirt before he can slip away. The scuffle that ensues is quick and sloppy. The little rat kicks Rude hard in the shin and throws an elbow into his gut, but Rude is solid enough to absorb both. He’s got a full head and probably eighty pounds on the kid and it’s not hard to shove him up against the wall. Capture those flailing wrists. Pin his neck with a forearm.

Rude doesn’t say anything until the kid kicks his leg again but then wrenches his arms back harshly.

“Kick me again and I’ll knock your teeth out.”

“Goddammit,” the kid mutters. His skinny arms pull and strain, trying to break Rude’s grip but it’s a losing battle. He’s already out of breath from running and he realizes the futility quickly. Rude hears somebody calling from down the main street, words angry but unclear.

“Somebody’s looking for you?” Rude asks quietly. “What a surprise.” He sets his shoulder against the kid’s back and leans forward to pin him against the wall, still holding both wrists in one hand. With the other, Rude starts rifling through his pockets. On the left side he first feels the cool metal of a switchblade which he pockets. Then it’s gum, crumpled up paper, and a pack of smokes which he drops on the ground.

The right pocket is an awkward reach with left hand, but it’s there that he finds the kid’s wallet. He flips it open and thumbs through it, humming in surprise at the number of bills. At this point, the kid finally speaks up.

“C’mon man. I gotta buy food for my ma.”

“Shut up.” Rude could throw this lightweight further than he trusts him. And he has a mother too. There’s about 200 gil in the wallet and it’s more than he expected to find. He slips the wallet into his own back pocket.

The voices on the street get closer and the redhead stiffens against Rude’s weight. “We done?” he whispers.

“It’s not enough,” Rude says at normal volume and the kid startles.

“Shut the fuck up!” he hisses. “You got everything. What else we gonna do here?”

“You really don’t want them to find you, huh?” Rude smirks.

“Listen bud, _you_ really—”

“Your clothes,” Rude interrupts.

“What?”

“I’ll take them as payment. Or if you want, we could have a nice, loud discussion about it.”

The string of whispered curses from the kid includes words Rude’s never heard before. “Fine. Dick. Get off me.”

Rude eases off and gives the kid just enough space to turn and put his back to the wall. “One step, and I’ll call ‘em,” he warns.

“You gonna wear my clothes, jackass?” the kid mutters, hands racing along buttons and belt and zipper.

“Keep talking and I’ll take your shoes too.”

The kid is stripped down to black boxers in ten seconds flat. He thrusts the bundle at Rude while he shoves his feet back into his trainers, hopping awkwardly to pull them back on. He’s thin and wiry and his pale skin stands out in the darkness. He tilts his face back up to Rude with his chin thrust out and his lips curled into a sneer.

“Done? Or did you want my boxers,” he spits.

Rude nearly laughs aloud at the thought of this kid sprinting through the slums naked save for his sneakers. He doesn’t bother to hide the smile that curls his lips.

“Keep ‘em. We’re done.”

Stooping to scoop up the cigarettes off the ground, the kid sprints away before Rude even finishes talking. 

The smile stays on Rude’s face as he walks the last few blocks home. This evening has gone better than expected. In the privacy of his bedroom, he turns the wallet out, laying everything on his bed. First the money. Two hundred and five gil. Given the week of evening shifts he’s almost back to even, and it feels good.

The next thing he examines is an ID. There’s a picture of the kid with his hair combed and his shirt buttoned. The name is “Reno Everhard” and the birthdate would make him eighteen. Rude huffs in amusement, unsure whether the name or the age is more ridiculous. As far as fakes go, it looks high quality, but that won’t change the fact that “Reno” looks thirteen.

The rest of the stuff looks like garbage to Rude. Scraps of paper with addresses or illegible notes scrawled on them. Receipts and candy wrappers. He puts it all back in the pockets, except for the money which he adds to his own stash. Tucked away in his nightstand, the wallet seems like a good luck charm.


	2. October '94

By the third month in Sector 6, Rude starts, occasionally, feeling comfortable and it catches him off guard. His shoulders aren’t used to being relaxed, and each time he notices that he feels safe he startles for a minute. Like he’s waiting for the front door to slam.

But it’s just him and his Mom, and they’re settling in. They’ve managed to acquire towels and sheets and forks and knives and all those menial essentials. Rude even got a crappy old TV cheap from a neighbor who was upgrading and they watch game shows on the weekends.

Rude’s mom has made a friend at work who lends her books and she spends her few days off of work reading or cleaning the house or cooking big meals that they can eat for several days.

Rude is invited by his coworkers to join them at a nearby gym after work. At first, he thinks they are crazy to work out after a full day of manual labor. He quickly realizes that most of what happens in the gym is smoking, sitting, and boxing. And drinking too, as the evening goes on.

After a few visits watching, he’s coaxed into the ring and gets his ass handed to him five rounds out of five. Everyone pats him on the back anyway, except for the dude who pats him on the ass. He’s offered a shot of bourbon which makes his lungs feel warm and told he’ll do better next time.

He does, but not by much.

On the nights he’s out late, Rude always swings by the restaurant where his mom works on his way home. If it looks like she’ll be wrapping up soon he’ll wait for her at the bar and walk her home. Or if she’s getting paid. She doesn’t have far to go between work and home, but he doesn’t want her getting mugged. Or worse. 

All in all, he’s very happy about how life is going in Sector 6.

* * *

Rude doesn’t see the redheaded kid—Reno—for a while. He’s on edge for a week or two, wondering if the punk is going to try and knife him in the back after their last run-in. He reminds himself that, despite losing his clothes, the brat still came out ahead by several hundred gil. So he hopes Reno isn’t out plotting revenge.

Several weeks after their last, amusing meeting, Rude sees him. Would swear he sees him. The mess of auburn hair. The lazy bob of a cigarette caught between fingers. Rumpled clothes leaning over a doorstep one street ahead.

But by the time Rude gets there, the kid is gone.

Over the next week, Rude gets a few more glimpses. The redhead stops avoiding him, but he doesn’t get the familiar greeting. There’s no sly sales pitch. Instead, he watches Rude with lazy, lidded eyes. Rude feels like he’s being weighed and measured. It’s not exactly unfriendly, but it’s wary. Rude’s skin prickles as he walks past the kid, leaning against the corner of an alley, smoking and talking to a friend.

Rude’s older, taller, wider, and stronger by a good margin. He doesn’t know why the gaze is intimidating. Reno’s like a wild animal and this is his natural environment. Rude is wary of being bitten. 

But Rude also doesn’t want to seem soft. He’s not prey. So he gazes back into those cool, blue eyes with his own measured stare until Reno casts his eyes away indifferently. 

* * *

By November, it’s starting to get cold at night—cold enough that Rude thinks about saving up to buy an actual winter jacket. It’s nearly 10pm when he heads home from the boxing gym. He swings by the restaurant but his mom’s still busy with a full section. It’ll probably be midnight before she’s done so he heads home, thinking at least he can turn on the heater and warm the apartment before she arrives.

He’s only three blocks from home when he encounters Reno. Despite the fact that weeks have passed, Rude knows the voice instantly when he hears it, though the tone is subdued.

“Hey, big guy.”

It stops him in his tracks. He turns to the left, acting as cool as he can while reaching into his pocket for the knife he’s started carrying. The kid is leaning back against the wall of an alley, foot propped up, hands in his pockets. Like he’s been waiting.

He pulls his hands out and holds them up, empty. “I’m not here for a fight.”

Rude settles his weight evenly and takes his hand out of his pocket, still on edge. “Okay. So what then? You wanna sell me flowers?”

The kid grins. “Nah. Today I’m buying.”

“What are you buying?”

“My wallet. I bet you didn’t toss it. And I want it back. Ten gil.”

Rude thinks for a minute. “You know I’m not giving you the money back.”

The kid rolls his eyes. “Of course I know, dumbass.”

“So what is it you want then?”

“My. Wallet,” he repeats, just shy of irritated.

Rude considers for a minute. “Nah.” He turns away and starts walking.

“Fifteen gil.”

Rude pauses. “Fifty,” he says, not even looking back.

“Are you kidding?” the kid sputters. “I could buy a new ID for that much.”

“Pick a better name this time,” Rude laughs, turning back. “Reno Everhard?”

“Yeah. Of the Sector One Everhards,” Reno replies sarcastically. “Look, I was drunk. But it works and I want it back.”

“Well, you can give me fifty gil then. You stole my _whole fucking paycheck,”_ Rude hisses.

“Yeah well, I didn’t get to _keep_ all of it.”

Rude glares at him. As if it makes any difference to Rude who kept his money.

“Thirty gil,” the kid offers. “C’mon man, it’s worthless to you.”

“I dunno, it makes me laugh.”

“Thirty gil is worth more than a chuckle.”

“Maybe I’ll use it myself.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious. Thirty gil and I’ll owe you a favor.”

Rude is skeptical. “You any good for favors?”

“Sure I am. I pay what I owe.”

“You owe me more than two hundred gil.”

“Tch.” He sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t count. We were strangers.”

“And now?” Rude prompts.

“Now we’re… buds.” He gives Rude a teasing smile. “We have an understanding.”

“We do?” Rude asks, unimpressed.

“Yep. We know that I’m Reno and that you’re…” he waves his hand to prompt Rude when he doesn’t say anything.

“Rude.”

“That’s your name?”

“Yes.”

“Oh-kay then. We know that I’m Reno and you’re Rude and you’re gonna give me back my wallet and I’m gonna give you thirty gil _and_ I’ll owe you because I’m generous like that.”

Despite his reservations, Rude finds himself amused. And the kid’s right. Rude needs the money more than he needs Reno’s wallet sitting in his nightstand.

“Fine. It’s a deal, _Reno.”_

They agree to meet. Same place, same time, tomorrow night.

* * *

The next night, Rude shows up on time and waits in the chill night air. He had expected the kid to be early since it seems he has nothing to do but hang around on the street anyway, but he’s not. Rude looks around with irritation, and the slightest bit of anxiety. He hopes this wasn’t a mistake.

_“Listen, you piece of shit…”_

The words float by, indistinct, but Rude recognizes the voice. Recognizes the familiar sound of an argument escalating. 

Reno spitting bile. A deeper voice cursing back at him. And then he catches the soft sounds of blow and choked-off pain. Sounds Rude knows intimately and they make his chest tighten. Make his head throb in time with his heartbeat. Make his fists clench.

Whatever is happening, it isn’t far away. He can hear it too clearly. Rude turns and steps into the alley before he can consider the wisdom of walking towards a fight. It’s dirty and dark and he has to shift around dumpsters and trash and strange turns between oddly-shaped buildings. Rude follows the trail of quiet curses and groans. He makes the last corner and finds a bleak scene, dimly lit by the amber light shining from a window in the building above them.

It’s Reno, of course, pinned against the wall by a much larger form. His head is lolling, propped up only by a hand wrapped around his neck. The other man is laying into him with fist and knees. Reno is silent now.

“Hey!” Rude’s voice is harsh in his own ears, like it’s strained by the anxiety tightening his chest. 

The shadow turns to consider him. Wipes at the blood from a busted lip. Weighs him the way that everyone does in the slums. “You know this kid?”

Just well enough to have thought about beating his ass himself. But not like this. Reno’s face is covered in blood and his limbs hang limp. “Just drop him,” Rude replies. He wants to sound tough but he knows the nerves are creeping through.

“You should know he’s trouble.” Then he chuckles to himself. “Was trouble.” His fist thudding almost idly into the skinny body. 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Rude spits out, stepping closer. 

“Step back or I’ll give you the same, kiddo.” The voice _almost_ sounds familiar. The words definitely do. He’s heard that before. The man opens his hand, letting Reno slide to the ground. Then he moves towards Rude, steps slow, fists clenching with promised violence. That’s familiar too, and it transforms Rude’s uncertainty and anxiety into anger. It boils through his veins like his blood will turn to vapor. 

This asshole. This piece of shit. Rude wants him to come closer. Wants to break his neck.

It’s a quick fight. Alcohol-saturated breath huffs out when Rude slams his fist into the man’s gut. Bones crack when his hands connect with ribs. The man lands a few blows too, but Rude doesn’t feel anything. He’s shoving the nightmare back until its head hits the wall. And then slamming it against the wall again until everything goes quiet, including the buzzing in Rude’s ears. When Rude is able to pry his fingers open again, the man falls like a black puddle at his feet.

It feels good. It feels good to fight and to put all his new muscle to use. 

But there was a reason he was out here in the first place. Shaking out sore hands, scraped on teeth and brick walls, Rude turns back to Reno who has managed to right himself, leaning back against the wall. He looks like hell. It’s hard to see much in the dim light, but his face is a mess. Nose definitely broken, maybe more. Maybe a cheekbone. His eyes are swelling closed and there’s blood everywhere. Covering his pale skin and splattered onto a dingy white shirt. 

Rude reaches out to touch a shoulder and the kid moans. He leans over to spit blood on the ground. Tries to get on his knees but his limbs won’t support him. He topples against Rude who catches him easily. 

Rude turns his face upward, wincing at the sight. “Reno?” he asks.

No reply. The fluttering blue eyes don’t even focus on him, roving over his face. Renomumbles something but Rude can only interpret every fifth word or so, and a lot of them are just curse words. It’s clear Reno has a concussion. At _least._ He keeps trying to rise but his limbs are uncoordinated. Then he moves like he’s going to crawl.

“Fuck.” There’s no way Rude can leave him here in this alley. And there’s no place to take him, except home.

So that’s what he does. He slings Reno’s arm over his shoulder and pulls him up to his feet. Reno seems able to shuffle along but Rude is so much taller it’s awkward for both of them and Reno’s less and less help as they go.

By the time they make it back to the main road, empty at this time of night, Rude’s supporting Reno’s weight entirely. Awkward as it is, he loops an arm under Reno’s legs, lifts the kid to his chest, and hurries up to his apartment.

Rude kicks the door closed behind him, grateful that his mom works late most Fridays. Lays Reno on his bed and looks him over. Under the harsh overhead light in his room, Reno looks even worse. His skin is ash gray and his breathing is shallow and eerily slow. Rude is reminded of a man that worked with him hauling scrap who took a head injury when a pile collapsed on him. He spoke as they hauled him back into the office, but fell unconscious and died the next day.

This kid could die in his bed. 

The thought is chilling for many reasons. Rude swallows hard and heads into his mother’s bedroom. Under her sink, hidden in an old bottle labeled “floor polish” is a potion. She’s stored it for years. Got it one time when his dad broke her arm and felt bad enough to procure one for her. She had refused to drink it and hidden it away. Probably to use on Rude if he ever needed it.

Rude grabs the small bottle and returns to his room. Uncaps it carefully and pours the smallest amount into Reno’s open, swollen mouth. This is all he has to offer—nobody’s going to pay for a doctor—so Rude doesn’t waste a bit. 

Rude isn’t even certain Reno can swallow it and, after a few spoonfuls, Reno chokes and coughs so Rude slides behind him on the bed, propping the slim shoulders up on his lap. The process takes forever. Rude can only hope that some healing is happening internally, because the kid’s face doesn’t look a bit better.

When half the potion is gone, Reno draws a deep, shuddering breath and sighs. It sounds like he is breathing better. Deeper. Rude considers saving the rest, but the kid still looks awful and head injuries are nothing to mess with. So, he tips the rest of it, bit by bit, between pale, bloody lips.

And then it’s gone, and Rude doesn’t know what else to do. He lowers Reno’s body down onto his bed and takes stock. The swelling and bruising on his face looks better. Rude grimaces at the sight of that bloody shirt. It’s definitely going to leave stains on his sheets but he doesn’t want to strip him.

He figures he might as well clean the kid up so he wets a washcloth, grateful that it’s black, and starts wiping the blood off Reno’s face. It collected in the corners of his eyes and nose. Glued together long eyelashes and dripped down to his jaw. The washcloth scrapes over stubble and Rude wonders if Reno is older than he thought. He dabs over Reno’s bloody lips carefully in case they’re still split and bruised. There’s even blood drying in the silver hoop in his left ear.

Reno looks much better with a clean face and Rude is immensely relieved. He knows that the superficial injuries aren’t what he needs to be worried about, but it’s still a relief to see his face unmarred by swelling and blood. Asleep and without his characteristic smirk, Reno almost looks sweet and innocent.

As Rude sits idle and uncomfortable, the grayish skin warms with a slight blush and ashen lips turn pink. Finally, with a quiet groan, his eyes open, ice blue and wild. Reno jolts in alarm, sits up, and scoots away from Rude on the bed. 

“What the fuck? What am I doing here?” 

He looks bewildered. Rude isn’t sure how much he remembers.

“I… uh… brought you here.”

_“Why?”_

“So you wouldn’t die in that alley.”

Reno’s eyes go distant as if the memories flicker back. His gaze darts around the room to take in the blood on Rude’s shirt. The empty potion bottle laying in the bed.

“You found me? All the way in that back alley?”

“I heard the fight,” Rude replies. Not that it was much of a fight. 

Reno looks at him skeptically. “You heard a fight in the slums. In a dark alley. And you came lookin’. That’s what you’re saying?”

Rude shrugs. “That’s the truth. You were already pretty beat up… when I got there. Guess you don’t remember.”

The straight nose wrinkles as Reno takes in the scent of blood in the room. “So what? You scared off that guy? My hero.”

Rude’s eyes go distant as he recalls what happens. “I might’ve killed him,” he admits, mostly to himself. 

Reno opens his mouth as if to shoot back disbelief or scorn and then closes it again. Looks at Rude’s knuckles, scraped to shit and covered in dried blood. Chews his lip.

“Well, thanks. I guess. You’re an idiot for getting involved. And an idiot for bringing me into your place _._ But I’m glad I’m not dead.”

"Should I have left you in the alley? You’re a kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he says. “I’m fifteen, and ‘kids’ like me die in alleys every day. You need to toughen up, boy scout, if you’re gonna survive here.”

“I’m the one who might have just killed someone tonight,” Rude retorts. 

“I’ll bring your merit badge tomorrow,” Reno scoffs and then immediately looks repentant. “But, uh, thanks, Rude. Yeah. I’ll… get outta your hair.” Reno glances down at his bloody shirt and wrinkles his nose with mild distaste.

“Are you kidding? You almost died. Just stay here tonight. Rest before you pass out. I’m not going back out to carry your body up the stairs again today.”

“Here, huh? You want me to pay you back or somethin’?” He looks at Rude with flat eyes.

Rude doesn’t get the implication at first and then recoils. “What? No! Geez. I’m just saying sleep here. What are you gonna do if you go back out there? Do you have any place to go?”

It's a personal question and Rude realizes as soon as he says it that it's probably bad manners to ask. He's seen this kid half asleep on the street enough times to know the answer. 

He gets a glare in response. “I've gotta place. But my mom works at night.” Rude is confused for a minute until he puts it together.

“Oh.” _Oh. “_ Well look. It’s cold outside. And you were unconscious and bleeding half an hour ago. I’m sure you feel like shit. Dunno if that potion healed everything. Just stay. Nobody’s gonna touch you here. I’ll make tea or something.”

Reno looks uncertain.

“I think there’s still blood in your ears,” Rude says, exasperated. “We’ve got, like, forty-five minutes til my mom comes home. You can clean up in the bathroom.”

“Yeah. Fine.” Reno acts like he’s doing Rude a favor, but tries to climb out of bed. He takes one step and immediately staggers and Rude has to stand and catch him before he falls.

It’s awkward. Reno slumps against his chest panting, one hand clutching Rude’s shirt like the world is spinning. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, cheeks going pink as he starts getting his coordination back. “Head rush.”

“It’s fine.” Rude lets him push away and find his balance. 

Reno glances up at him with a wry smile. “I don’t suppose you still have my clothes, do you?”

"Your clothes?” Rude laughs when he realizes what Reno means. “Yeah, I do actually.” Rude retrieves them from the bottom of his closet and hands them over.

“Such a dick move,” Reno says, shaking his head and giving Rude a half-amused smile.

“You started it.”

“Yeah, yeah. What goes around and karma and all that shit. Where’s the bathroom?”

Ten minutes later, Reno emerges marginally cleaner and redressed. The brief trip, however, left him weak and shivering. He staggers back into Rude’s room and sits on the bed without argument when Rude waves him towards it. Rude can’t imagine that Reno could have made it as far as the front door if he had attempted to leave.

When Rude puts a mug of hot tea in Reno’s hands, they’re shaking so badly Rude has to take it back before it spills all over the bed.

“Hey—what’s wrong?” Rude asks, alarmed.

“J-just c-c-cold.” Reno’s teeth are chattering. It isn’t that cold in the apartment so Rude wonders if it’s an after-effective of the healing. Or maybe the exhaustion. He grabs the thin blanket and wraps it around Reno’s shoulders, tucking it tight around his neck and his crossed legs. Reno’s eyes are going glassy again.

“Here,” Rude takes the hot mug and puts it in Reno’s ice-cold hands, wrapping his own around firmly to keep Reno from spilling. “It’s warm. Take a drink.”

Together they bring the mug to Reno’s lips, Rude leaning over with one knee on the bed, hands taking their cue from Reno’s as he tentatively sips. After a few minutes, the shaking lessens and Rude lets his hands fall away but Reno’s eyes are fluttering and distant. He finishes the tea and weakly offers the mug back to Rude, mumbling something that could have been _thank you._ Reno doesn’t lay down so much as he slumps over, curled up tight in the blanket like a cocoon.

It’s a bit alarming, but then again, Reno was beat to shit tonight and you don’t just bounce back from that. His breathing is deep and steady and his eyes are closed peacefully like he’s sleeping. Rude sighs at the thought of a night on the floor and turns off the light. It wouldn’t do for his mom to pop in and say goodnight, thinking he’s still awake.

The floor is cool and uncomfortable on his sore muscles. He pulls on a sweatshirt and bundles a second one up under his head for a pillow since it seems too cruel to pull the pillow out from under Reno’s cheek.

Rude sets the alarm on the floor nearby and closes his eyes. In the darkness, in the stillness, the night begins rushing back at him. 

The sound of Reno’s voice, sharp with anger.

The eerie yellow light of the alley that turned a man into a shadow.

The feeling of bone breaking under his hands.

He _killed a man_ tonight. Almost certainly. Never even saw his face. Saw his teeth. Saw the outline of his shoulders and the shine of Reno’s blood on his hands. And broke his head.

He wasn’t dead when Rude walked Reno out, but he was probably close to it. And no one will find him. Not tucked so far back in that narrow alleyway like he was. In the place where he nearly beat Reno to death. That man might have had friends or family who would miss him, but Rude doubts anyone will find him _there._

So he’ll die. Could be dying right this minute. The thought is uncomfortable. It itches over Rude’s skin. Has something changed now, with this action? Has _he_ changed? Is there any chance he’ll end up in trouble for this? Rude sits up and rubs his forehead, trying to disperse the dark mood that has settled over him.

He looks at Reno, fast asleep in his bed. His eyes are shadowed and there’s still an edge of blackish, dried blood at his hairline. Tonight, Rude killed a stranger and saved a mouthy street rat. And for whatever reason, that feels… okay to Rude. 

It’s okay.

Rude doesn’t need to sort out if what he did was right or wrong. This life is too complicated to spend time worrying about ethics. He’s got himself to worry about. His mom. Money and survival. He should just be grateful he’s safe at home. Be grateful the kid in his bed isn’t dying.

The soft sound of Reno’s breath settles his nerves. Rude turns his thoughts away from the shadow in the alley. Thinking about that further serves no purpose. He’s safe. He’s safe for now, at least. And he’ll do what it takes to stay that way.


	3. November '94

Rude sleeps surprisingly well on the floor. Maybe it’s the adrenaline crash, but his sleep is deep and dreamless. When the alarm goes off, like it does every weekday morning, it feels surreal. The placid regularity of getting up for work is jarring after the night of violence.

Remembering his guest, Rude sits up to check on him. Reno is still and wide-eyed in the bed. He blinks at Rude a few times as if he’s still piecing the night together. They look at each other, uncertain.

“I’m uh... I gotta get ready for work.”

“Ah, yeah. I’ll clear out.” Reno struggles to sit up, yawning. His coloring is still off. In the cool morning light, Rude can see the slight purpling of bruises on his face and neck. One of his eyes is ringed with black. The potion didn’t take care of everything.

Rude sighs. “Just stay. You look like hell. If you don’t need to be somewhere just… go back to sleep.”

Reno’s too tired to argue. He sags back to the pillow with relief and offers a mumbled, _thanks_ , eyes already closing.

“Hey,” Rude says softly.

“Yeah?” Eyes blink open again, alerted.

“If you steal from me, I’ll make you wish I’d left you in the alley.”

Reno’s eyes sharpen. “You’d never find me,” he says flatly. “But I’m not a complete dick.”

“Ok. In that case, feel free to eat whatever’s in the fridge. Sleep as long as you want. Nobody will be here until evening.”

“Thanks, man.”

* * *

The morning is cool and foggy. The condensation is heavy enough that it collects on the underside of the plate and falls back down in big drops—a scattered, random approximation of rain. Rude feels equally scattered and strange as he walks to work.

He works his hands open and closed inside his gloves, feeling the leather press against the raw skin on his knuckles. It would be easy to forget last night—to think it a bizarre dream—except for that physical reminder. It nags at him every time he picks up and loads a box.

Reno is on his mind and Rude isn’t sure why. He doesn’t think that Reno will rob him blind. Maybe it’s the indifferent calm Rude saw in Reno’s eyes when he talked about the prospect of dying on the street. Fifteen. Reno seems somehow both older and younger than that.

When his shift ends, Rude heads straight back home. He knows Reno won’t be there, but wants to check, just in case.

The door is still dead bolted and Rude walks in feeling like he’s intruding. _Is he still here?_

But he’s not. Rude’s room is empty, bed made half-heartedly, as if Reno gave it a try, and lost interest halfway through. And then, Rude walks the apartment carefully, inventorying what’s different. Guessing where Reno’s hands have been. It’s not that he’s afraid Reno stole from him. It’s that, for whatever reason, he’s very curious what Reno did all alone in his home.

His stash of gil is still in his shoe, tucked away in the corner of his closet. But the door was is now ajar and Rude is certain he closed it this morning. Reno does seem like the type who would snoop around. Some leftovers are gone from the fridge and there’s a plate left by the sink. Rude’s towel is damp in the bathroom. His mother’s room looks untouched.

Rude returns to his bedroom and looks out the window into the alley. The latch is unhooked. Reno must have gone out the window and down the fire escape. It’s a short drop to the alley, but someone agile enough could manage it without trouble.

Rude sits on his bed feeling strange. He reaches for his bedside table drawer, already anticipating what he’ll find—one more sign of Reno’s presence in his room. He opens it. As expected, the scuffed leather wallet that he pulled out of Reno’s pocket is gone.

He’d forgotten about their planned exchange when the night took such an unexpected turn. But apparently, Reno didn’t. Although he did “forget” to leave Rude the promised gil.

_Of course he did._

Scolding himself for being surprised, Rude flops back on his pillow and breathes in the scent of smoke and blood. He sits up again and picks it up, noticing a few bloodstains. _No surprise given the shape Reno was in last night._

What is a surprise, however, is the small pile of bills that are tucked under his pillow. Reno left the thirty gil after all.

* * *

Rude sets back out immediately after putting his sheets to wash in the shared laundry downstairs. The sun hasn’t quite set yet and the light is golden. In the slums, it sometimes seems brighter at sunrise and sunset when the sun’s rays can creep under the edges of the plate.

He only realizes where he’s going as the apartment door clicks shut behind him. The alley draws him like a magnet. He wants to know if the man is still there. The body. Wants to know if he really killed someone last night. If things happened as he remembers.

The alley is the same as he recalls. Cluttered and twisting and strange as it branches into smaller, narrower pathways that squeeze between brick walls covered in graffiti. In the last of the daylight, Rude recognizes a surprising number of gang tags and he realizes that this alley might have some purposes he’s not aware of.

Realizes that this could be a bad idea. But he’s already here. He doesn’t hear anything. So he keeps going with slowing steps until he nears the last corner. Almost there. _Do I really want to see this?_

“I see you’re still an idiot.”

Rude startles and stops. Reno steps around the last corner, eyes coolly appraising. He wipes his hands on a rag and tosses it down to the ground.

“What are you doing here, Rude?” he asks, his tone exasperated, but not angry.

Rude straightens his spine. He’s older and bigger. He doesn’t need permission to walk around in the slums. “I wanted to see. Did I kill him?”

“No,” Reno answers blandly. _“I_ killed him. Slit his throat.”

Rude’s eyes narrow. He tries to move around Reno to see for himself but is stopped by a hand on his chest.

“Body’s gone. I cleaned up your mess.”

“My mess?” Rude asks irritably. “Didn’t _I_ clean up _your_ mess?”

Reno smiles at him. A quick admission. A flash of his canines. A strangely cute look for talking about murder. “Yeah, well. Fine. I cleaned up _our_ mess this afternoon.”

Rude wonders if it’s true. “So what are you doing here now then?”

“I’m doin’ you a favor, dumbass. Had a sense you’d come here. You beat the shit outta somebody… maybe kill ‘em… and come back to admire your work the next day? What good could that possibly accomplish?” Reno grabs Rude by the arm and starts towing him back down the alley. “That dude coulda had _friends._ He could have been part of an _organization.”_ Rude is craning his head back but lets Reno yank him along.

“No,” he continues. “You do bad shit, you put it _behind_ you where it belongs and don’t look back.”

But then he freezes and his hand grips Rude’s bicep hard enough to hurt.

Rude starts to ask _What?_ but he’s cut off when Reno slaps his other hand over Rude’s mouth and begins shoving back the way they came. Rude realizes what’s happening within a few steps. He can hear the voices. People are coming and they need to _not be here._

Unfortunately, there aren’t many options. Rude can see Reno scanning frantically. Nothing to climb. They can head into the turn where the body was, or go past it slightly, but either way is a dead end.

“Sorry about this,” Reno mutters between a steady stream of curse words as he pushes Rude past the turn. Rude, catching on quickly, is also looking for ways out, but freezes as they go past the turn off. There’s a body on the ground. Crumpled and turned so he can’t see the face. Laying in a pool of blackening blood.

He nearly falls as Reno keeps pushing him backwards. The redhead takes his hand off Rude’s mouth and gives him a sharp smack on the cheek.

“C’mon, big guy. This is no time for gawking.”

There are two grey metal doors in this corner of the alley. Reno tries them both and peers at the locks for about two seconds before he curses, grabs Rude by the sleeve, and tows him towards a dumpster.

“You lied to me,” Rude says, still distracted. 

“Yep. Get in, get _in.”_ Alarmed by the urgency in Reno’s voice, Rude climbs in without complaint and falls on his back, wrinkling his nose as he sinks into the trash. It is wetter than he expected and the smell is awful as the bags shift around him. Reno jumps in, landing on Rude’s legs, and lowers the lid over Rude’s side of the dumpster, which requires that Rude relax even further into the trash.

Reno’s side is missing the lid entirely so he works his way down, pulling bags and other debris on top of himself. He ends up huddled between Rude’s legs with his head on Rude’s thigh.

“Sorry,” he whispers and Rude isn't sure exactly what he's apologizing for. It hardly matters at this point. Rude is too busy breathing through his mouth and trying not to think about whatever slimy thing is now pressed to his left ear. _This is disgusting._

But quickly they have the distraction of company. The voices are close enough now for Rude to hear the conversation. Two men with thick slum accents.

“… think he woulda bailed?”

“With the cash?”

“Yeah.”

“No way. It wasn’t even a big order. Jimmy isn’t a dumbass. He’d have waited for more.”

“Ya never know, man. Things change. Maybe he needed it fast.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Guy was a lifer.”

Their footfalls come closer. Rude hears someone kick a bag of trash. He hears someone spit on the ground. And then it’s quiet as they round the corner. Rude tries to quiet his breath because each exhale is obscenely loud, echoing under the lid of the dumpster.

“Well, shit,” one of them says. Not sounding too broken up.

“What a fuckin’ mess. Roll ‘em over.”

“You roll ‘em over! I’m not stepping in that. These are new shoes.”

“Ugh.” And then a grunt of effort. Another disgusted scoff.

“Well?”

“Nothin’. He’s cleaned out.”

“Check his back pockets.”

“Aw, fuck. I just rolled his ass into it.”

“Well, roll him back. We gotta check.”

A sigh and a grunt proceed the next words. “Toldja. Cleaned out.”

“Shit. No surprise.”

“Well?”

“Well let’s get the fuck outta here. Nico can decide what he wants to do about this.”

“We gonna leave him?”

“‘Course we’re gonna leave him. What the fuck else? Sanitation will get him eventually.”

“So what are you doing then?”

“Getting his wedding ring.”

“You gonna give it to Sienna? Or pawn it.”

“Haven’t decided.”

* * *

The men leave after that, and Reno waits almost five minutes more before he finally shoves the trash off of him and climbs out of the dumpster. Rude tries to climb out after him but he got pushed further down into the trash by Reno’s weight and the lid and it’s like trying to pull himself out of mud. Every time he moves to try and get leverage, another part of him sinks in deeper.

Reno is laughing at him by the time he offers a hand and helps pull Rude out, getting leverage by propping one foot on the dumpster.

“That was disgusting,” is all Rude can offer as he shrugs in his tee-shirt, now entirely soaked with trash, trying to get it unstuck from his back.

Reno is only marginally better off but he still smirks at Rude and calls him a priss.

“Whatever. I’m sure you’re used to climbing into dumpsters.”

“Well, I’m not gonna get all fussy about it. How about ‘Thank you Reno, for saving my life.’”

“Oh, is that what happened?”

“You’re fuckin’ right it—hey!” Reno grabs onto Rude’s arm when he realizes where Rude is going. “You really wanna see that?”

Rude ignores him and turns the corner to look at the body. The blood. The face.

Reno drops his arm but comes to stand next to him. “Not squeamish, huh?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Rude is unsure what to say. He’s not upset. It’s unpleasant, but he’d do it again. “Fine,” he says eventually. What he’s really trying to do is figure out if the man died from a head wound or a slit throat. But he can’t tell.

Reno lets him stand there for a minute more before he elbows him in the ribs. “C’mon. We shouldn’t stick around here either. It’s stupid.” He walks off, but pauses until Rude finally follows him and they make their way back out, silent and listening carefully for anyone else.

Rude waits until they can see the main road again before he cuts Reno off, stepping in front of him with his arms crossed.

“How much did you get off of him?

Reno gives him a wry smile. “You caught that, did you? You’re a sharp one.”

Rude ignores the flattery. “Well?”

Sighing, but looking more amused than put out, Reno reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wallet that isn’t his. “Eight hundred.”

“Damn, really?” Rude wasn’t expecting so much. “What was he doing with that much cash?”

Reno gives him a pitying look. “Business, you big baby. And yeah, really. I was gonna split it with you anyway.”

“Sure you were.”

“I was!” Reno says, making a show of looking injured. “I told you I’d do you a favor.” He holds out four hundred gil, but Rude takes all of the money out of his hands and starts counting it.

“Nope,” Rude retorts. “Doesn’t count as a favor when you get the money off a man that I took down. I coulda had all of it.” The gil totals eight hundred. Rude hands half of it back.

“Yeah, if you weren’t so stupid as to leave his wallet _on him_ last night.”

“Sorry, I was busy keeping you alive.”

“Fine,” Reno rolls his eyes. “I still owe you a favor then. And I’m gonna give you some advice, for free.” He looks up at Rude, a whole head taller. “I can tell you’re a real nice boy but you better wise up before you get hurt. Getting involved in that fight was dumb. Bringing me into your place was dumb. Coming back to the alley was dumb.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “Keep this up and something isn’t gonna work out so well.”

His tone is irritated but the look on his face is worried. _Concerned._ Rude can’t help but laugh.

“Seriously? Didn’t I save _your_ ass last night? You’re going to talk to me about personal safety?”

Reno looks pissed. “Look, Rude, big guy like you… you’re an attractive nuisance. You’re always gonna get attention. You keep your nose _real_ clean and maybe folks’ll leave ya alone. But you start getting mixed up in… whatever… you’re gonna get seen as a recruit or a threat. And you don’t want either of those.”

“Fine.” Rude isn’t sure exactly what Reno means but he’s not about to ask. “What about you?”

“Me? I know how to live down here.”

Rude gives him a steady gaze. He can see the bruises on Reno’s neck and the circles under his eyes.

Reno licks his teeth. “Things have just been a little tough lately. Haven’t been home as much. That’s all. I’m tired and I got sloppy. Bad luck.”

Their eyes meet for a long time. Blue, defensive, cocky. Amber, skeptical, concerned. Cool and warm.

“Well,” Rude begins. He sniffs pointedly. “Well, if you want to owe me two favors, you can come back with me and wash your clothes in our laundry.”

Reno scrunches up his face like he doesn’t really want to accept the offer. But he also doesn’t really want to walk home smelling like trash juice.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. And when Rude doesn’t move but just looks at him expectantly he grits his teeth and adds, “That’d be nice, thanks.”

* * *

On the way home, Reno makes Rude wait while he ducks into the corner store.

“You going to walk in there in there like _that?”_ Rude asks, wrinkling his nose.

“I’ve done a lot worse than this, Rude.”

He emerges a few minutes later holding a four-pack of cheap beer. “My wallet’s already doin’ me good,” he grins. “We need this.”

Rude feels uncertain about bringing alcohol into the house. He’s not sure how his mom would react. He’s not sure how he feels about it either. But Reno's already got it so he doesn’t say anything.

The minute they step inside, Reno pops open two beers and hands one to Rude. “So how we doing this?”

Rude looks at the beer in his hand and then back at Reno. “Huh?”

Reno cocks an eyebrow. “You gonna make me strip again?”

Rude’s cheeks grow warm. “Oh. No. Here, I’ll get you some clothes. You can shower first.”

When Rude comes out of the shower twenty minutes later, Reno is sitting on the couch in Rude’s way-too-big t-shirt and sweats, watching some pulpy war movie loosely based on the Wutai war. He looks relaxed. Rude comes to join him on the couch, unsure what to do in this situation. He picks up his barely-touched beer and sips on it as Reno cracks open his second.

“You seen this one?” Reno asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“No.”

“Total propaganda piece. Shinra bullshit. At least they didn’t give the Sephiroth stand-in a fake-ass-lookin’ silver wig this time.”

Rude smiles into his beer. The silver wigs _are_ pretty horrendous. The hero of this particular movie is blond, but he does have unusually long hair for a war hero, just like the Shinra poster child.

“What bullshit,” Reno continues, talking over the movie idly. “Wish they’d just go ahead and say it’s all for mako and power and control and shit. I could respect that, ya know? Instead, they feed us these stories about honor or whatever. Like a corporation has _values_ other than money.”

He glances over at Rude, who responds only, “Hm.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Not really.”

“Hm,” Reno tosses back at him. He turns back to the movie in time to see the hero’s girlfriend wave goodbye as he boards a ship. Reno snorts. “More bullshit. Everybody knows all the Firsts are as gay as Bone Village.”

Rude nearly spits out his beer and Reno grins at him as he coughs into his elbow. 

“You gonna disagree with me? I’m only gonna say one word before you do: hair.”

Rude is still clearing beer out of his lungs and trying to stop laughing. “You’re one to talk.” Reno’s hair is currently leaving wet spots on the shoulders of Rude’s t-shirt. 

“Hey! My hair’s great. Chicks love long hair.”

“Maybe that’s why Sephiroth does it.”

“No way. I’m also not walking around with my tits out.”

Rude just shakes his head. “I’m gonna go move the clothes to the dryer.”

When Rude comes back up he reheats chicken and rice soup and they eat it sitting on the floor with their bowls on the coffee table. Reno gives commentary the whole way through the movie, and, after his one beer, Reno’s unfiltered hot takes only seem more amusing.

Rude leans his head back on the couch. His body feels loose and warm and heavy. How long has it been since he had a friend over to his place? What age had he been when he realized how different his mom was? When he realized that the violence in his father was unusual? 

It’s been a long time. Years.

And now, here he is in an apartment he pays for himself. He’s safe. His mom’s safe. He might have killed someone yesterday but in an odd way, that makes him feel even more secure. He _took care_ of it. And it all feels damn good. He can make his own life now.

When the credits roll, Reno stretches, popping his back. “I should get outta here.”

“Right.” He’s right. Rude’s mom will be home in a few hours and he doesn’t really want her to know he was drinking beers with some kid from the streets. He can imagine how that conversation would go.

_How did you meet him?_

_Oh, he stole my wallet. He nearly died in my bed. I killed someone for him. Or maybe he killed him for me. Unclear._

Rude knows exactly the intense, private worry he would see behind her eyes for weeks. Of course, Rude could lie to her. It would be so easy to do. She never questions things—it’s as if the possibility of lying doesn’t even occur to his mother. And that’s exactly the reason that the thought of lying to her strikes him as so unkind. Better to avoid discussing it at all.

So Rude retrieves their clothes, shaking off the odd feeling of disappointment. Reno changes in his room and then they’re standing at the door, looking at each other. Rude is unsure if the awkwardness is shared or entirely on his end. He feels like he’s saying goodnight to a date. He wants to see Reno again. To be friends. But he has no idea how to actually make that happen.

Reno seems perfectly at ease. “Thanks, yo. Been a crazy day.” He’s already reaching for the doorknob.

“Yeah. Hey.”

Reno turns back to him, eyebrow raised.

“If you, uh, need a place…”

“I’ve got a place,” Reno interrupts, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Right. I mean, if you want to come sometime and sleep. During the day…”

Reno’s eyes narrow. “I’m not a stray cat.”

“You’ve got a tail,” Rude counters, flicking Reno’s ponytail. Trying to lighten the mood. 

“Oh fuck off,” Reno looks really irritated now. He yanks open the door and then stops. Looks back over his shoulder. “What. You gonna give me a key?”

Rude hadn’t actually thought this through. “Uh, well. You left by the window. You can probably come in that way too, right?”

Reno gives him a long look. “So I’m clear, you’re saying I should climb up the fire escape, come in your window, and what? Sleep in your bed?”

Rude realizes how odd this offer sounds. “I’m just—” he wants to say _being nice,_ but he can tell that won’t go over well. “—saying, that nobody’s here during the day. I wouldn’t even know if you did.”

Reno blinks at him. “Why would you let me do that?”

Rude searches for words. He’s not sure himself why he made the offer. He falls back on words he got from Reno, infusing them with the same sarcasm. “Because we’re buds now, right? You know. As a _thank you_ for _saving my life_.”

He’s relieved when Reno huffs and smirks at him. Rolls his eyes.

“Fine.” He walks out the door. “Maybe I will,” he says over his shoulder.

Rude cleans up the dishes and returns to his room to find the clothes that Reno borrowed for the evening in a messy pile on the bed. Rude picks them up and drops them in the hamper, ignoring the odd urge he has to put them on and see if they’re still warm.


	4. December '94

Rude starts leaving his window unlatched. He feels stupid for _many_ reasons, but tells himself that anybody who wanted to steal from him would just break the window anyway.

It takes a week, but Reno does come. Rude doubted he would, and told himself it didn't matter. It was fine either way. He was only being nice.

And yet, when Rude comes home one day and finds his bed poorly made, his heart races. He looks around the apartment for any other sign that Reno has been there, and sees nothing. He spends all evening second-guessing himself. Wondering if maybe he was just sloppy this morning. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking.

As he crawls under the covers that night, though, the same thrill comes back when he catches the trace scents of smoke and deodorant on his sheets.

He’s certain now, that Reno slept in his bed.

Several weeks pass and Rude never sees him, but it’s simple to tell when Reno has been in his room. Reno can’t make a bed for shit, even though he clearly tries to return it to the state Rude leaves it in every morning. 

He gets in the habit of checking his room first thing when he comes home. It’s usually just once a week that Reno has come. Twice at the most.

One Tuesday, Rude comes home after work rather than going to the gym and finds Reno in his bed at 5:30 in the afternoon. He appears deeply asleep, not stirring in the slightest when Rude opens the bedroom door. And so Rude stands in the doorway watching for a minute. It feels transgressive.

Reno’s curled up into a ball with the blanket pulled all the way up under his chin—it’s cold. His face is half-hidden by auburn waves that have fallen out of his ponytail. His breathing is so slow and quiet Rude can’t hear it, but he can see the blanket rise and fall.

So this is what it looks like, the ghost that’s sleeping in his bed. Reno’s boots are laying on their sides under the window and there’s a worn backpack leaning up against the bed. A towel is hanging over the foot of the bed like it was set there to dry. Rude wonders if Reno is bathing here. He’s not going to ask.

Rude shuts the door silently and goes to the kitchen to make some dinner, shaking off the odd feeling that he’s intruding in his own space. The meat is sizzling in the pan when his bedroom door opens and Reno emerges, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Guess you caught me,” he says wryly. 

Rude shrugs. “Not like I didn’t know.” He’s being cool. No big deal. But he can feel Reno’s eyes on him as he adds garlic and broccoli to the pan.

“You want some?”

Reno smiles at him, sly and cheerful. Rude thinks it’s his most genuine smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

After that, it’s a bit more common for Rude to catch Reno in his bed after work. About once a week they sit on the floor of his room and eat stir-fry, or apples, or noodles or whatever Rude has on hand. Sometimes Reno brings something to share and Rude warms at the thought that Reno _intended_ to spend time with him, rather than just sleeping too late.

It’s easy to be around Reno. He talks a lot and Rude never feels awkward about not having enough to say. Reno doesn’t talk about himself much. Instead, he tells Rude stories about other people. The drug runner who tried to steal a shipment. The whore who landed a spot at the Honeybee Inn. Rumors about the Angel of the Slums, who Reno doesn’t think exists.

Reno thinks all the stories are funny and Rude agrees about most of them.

It’s nice to talk to someone his own age. Rude isn’t in school and the men he works with are all much older—many with wives and children. Outside of work, his only social activity is boxing and he’s one of the very youngest at the gym. There are a few other teenagers, but Rude is too big and muscular at this point to actually spar with any of them.

Reno gives him something he doesn’t get anywhere else. Rude isn’t sure what it is exactly. It’s not like he wants to be a kid. Just the opposite in fact. He wants to be a man. To take care of himself. His mom.

But it’s nice, sometimes, to laugh about stupid shit like Reno’s buddy who got so high he peed off the roof of a club straight onto one of the bouncers. He feels relaxed for a little while, like he doesn’t have all the responsibilities of a job and rent and keeping his mom safe. 

Rude wonders about Reno’s life. What keeps Reno busy. Where he stays when he’s not at Rude’s. Occasionally, Reno will mention a meeting, or a contact, or “business,” but he never gives Rude anything specific to go on.

It is annoying that Reno, two years younger, calls him “baby,” but Rude tries to ignore it.

Rude can tell that Reno wants to pull his own weight. Gifts start appearing in the apartment—always on the days when Reno leaves before Rude gets home.

Often it’s food. Random things. Meat in the refrigerator. Cookies left in a cabinet. A pile of oranges—very unusual in Midgar—left on the counter in a little pyramid. It takes Rude a few rounds to realize that these are coming from Reno and not his mother.

There are other things too. A new blanket appears on his bed one day as the weather turns colder. A week later Rude realizes that the shampoo in the shower has been replaced. But it’s the cash that makes Rude uncomfortable. One day he finds fifty gil tucked under his pillow. He considers leaving it there but decides that maybe Reno is still paying him back for the theft of his wallet, months ago.

Two weeks later it happens again. Rude waits until he finds Reno in bed again and brings it up while he’s cooking dinner.

“Hey,” he says while Reno juggles apples in the kitchen. He’s surprisingly good at it. “You don’t need to give me money.”

Reno doesn’t stop. “Of course I do. You think I’m gonna freeload off of you and your mom?”

“It’s just…” Rude isn’t sure what to say. He wants to know where it’s coming from. He doesn't think Reno has a job—not in the way that Rude understands. “You working now or something?”

Reno’s eyes narrow and he sets the apples back down on the counter. “Something like that.”

“I just don’t want you to think you have to steal or anything to pay me for rent. It doesn’t cost me anything for you to sleep here.”

“I’m not,” he says, voice thin with irritation.

“Okay,” Rude replies. “So where are you getting it then?” He knows he’s pushing but he really wants to know. He doesn’t want Reno putting himself in danger to bring him gil.

“What business is it of yours?” Reno asks cuttingly. “Maybe I’m slinging drugs. Maybe I’m running errands for little old ladies. Maybe I’m tutoring little kids in math. Maybe I’m blowing guys in alleys.”

Rude flinches.

“Just take the money, Rude. Unless you’d rather I pay in you blowjobs than cash.”

Rude looks back at the cutting board. “No,” he says, abashed.

“So we’re settled. I’ll see you later, then.” Reno doesn’t wait for the food. He turns on his heel and heads into Rude’s bedroom. He slips out the window quietly, leaving Rude in the kitchen holding a knife and wondering if any of those “jobs” is how Reno is actually earning cash. And if he’s going to have to try and track down Reno to apologize.

To Rude’s great relief, a few days later, he finds his bed disheveled and he can smell smoke on his sheets. The next time they see each other, Reno acts like nothing happened. They don’t talk about money again, but it continues appearing under his pillow.

* * *

In late January there’s a cold snap. Weather is an odd phenomenon in Midgar, particularly under the plate where the metal sky directs heat and cold and wind and humidity in strange ways.

This winter is particularly odd. An unpleasant fog slides under the plate and simply stays there. For weeks. As the weather turns colder it thickens, blanketing anyone or anything outdoors in clammy, frosty, dampness. 

It is miserable.

During the first week of cold fog, Reno comes more often. Rude never sees him, but he knows by now by instinct when Reno has slept in his room. It feels different if Reno has been there. 

But Reno never stays late enough to see Rude when he gets home from work. It’s like he feels shy about coming too much.

The days are so short that it is dark by the time Rude gets home, even if he comes straight home after work rather than going to the gym. Dark and cold and absolutely unliveable outside. 

They can’t afford to keep the heater running during the days so Rude keeps his jacket and hat and gloves on in the house, and only turns it on late in the evening before his mother gets home. Even then, he sleeps in several layers with his feet in socks and a beanie pulled over his close-cropped hair and when he wakes up he is still stiff with cold. 

He worries about Reno. Rude doesn’t know if Reno has other places to go. If his actual home is safe and warm or if he has other friends he can stay with. Even if Reno stays in their apartment all day, the heater isn’t on and he's still gotta be cold. And at night… it’s far worse. Rude knows Reno has slept on the street plenty, but nobody should do that in weather like this.

When the miserable cold continues for a second week, Rude decides, for the first time, to seek Reno out. It’s surprisingly easy to find him. Rude heads up and down some of the main thoroughfares in this part of the slums and within half an hour he spots Reno sitting on the steps in front a corner store, legs tucked in tight against his body, ponytail snaking over one shoulder, cigarette smoke leaking from his lips.

He’s chatting with two other guys, but he sees Rude from a block away. Rude can tell by the way his shoulders straighten and roll back, like he’s preparing to stand up. Reno’s eyes track him as he approaches. There’s no recognition in them, only careful wariness. Reno is still talking quietly to the boy on his right but his eyes flicker up to Rude’s and he shakes his head. The movement is miniscule but Rude knows it’s for him.

He walks on down the street, not really surprised that Reno doesn’t want to speak to him here in the open. He turns left at the next cross street and waits, trying not to shiver as the fog sinks deeper into his clothes—the dampness seeping down to his skin. It’s a relief when Reno comes around the corner a few minutes later.

“Follow me,” he tells Rude, and walks further down the street until there’s an alley they can duck into.

“What’s up, Rude?” Reno’s tone is guarded but not hostile. “You don’t usually come lookin’ for me.”

Suddenly, Rude isn’t sure what to say. Reno always reacts poorly to any implication that he can’t take care of himself. And it certainly seems awkward to invite him for a sleepover like they’re eight-year-old girls. They have slept together in his room once, but Reno was nearly unconscious. Rude realizes he should have thought this out first.

“It’s really cold out here,” is what he comes up with.

Reno laughs in his face. “No shit, weatherman. Thanks for the heads up. Is that all?”

Rude looks him over more carefully. Reno at least has a heavy coat and a scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s wearing fingerless gloves and his head is uncovered. His face looks tired—Rude realizes he can tell the difference now. His lips have a faint bluish cast and his cheeks are pale.

Rude wants to ask how Reno is staying warm. Where he’s sleeping. _If he’s sleeping_. But Reno doesn’t like those types of questions so instead he says, “You should come stay at my place at night. It’s too fucking cold out here and we have the heater on at night.”

Reno seems surprised. Then uncertain and guarded. “Where would I sleep?”

“On… the floor?” Rude realizes it doesn’t seem like a very generous offer. But his mom would find Reno on the couch and it would be weird to share the bed. Two might fit, barely, but still. “I mean, only if that’s better than… uh… whatever you’re doing now.” He trails off. “At least it’s warmer than out here.”

Reno presses his lips together and it makes the blue even more apparent. “Yeah. Okay. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

“Okay, cool.” Rude is so relieved that this hasn’t gone poorly he’s afraid to say more.

Reno gives him a small smile and turns to head out of the alley. “I’ll see ya around, bud.” He tosses his last words over his shoulder. “Don’t make a habit of this, ok?”

He comes that very night, which makes Rude doubly glad he made the offer. Reno must have been freezing his ass off to accept an offer of help so readily.

It’s just shy of midnight when his slim form slides through the window so quietly that it’s the cold air that stirs Rude awake, rather than noise. Their voices are hushed. Rude’s sleepy. Reno’s shaking with suppressed shivers.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You want some hot tea?”

“God. You’re too damn nice,” Reno complains. “But yeah. Please. I’m freezin’.”

Reno gets settled on the floor with one of the blankets and his backpack for a pillow. He insists that Rude keep the thicker comforter and curls up under the thin cotton blanket that Rude uses in the summer.

They both close their eyes and try to sleep, but the heater is closer to his mom’s room and can’t really keep up overnight. The floor is cold and there’s likely a draft from the window above Reno. Rude can only listen to his breath quiver with suppressed shivers for so long.

“Reno.”

“Yeah.”

“Just get in the bed with me. I can’t sleep with you shivering on the floor.”

Reno rolls onto his back and looks up at Rude, peering over the edge of the bed. His face is lit by the window and he’s grinning. “So this was all one big plot to get me into bed with you? I gotta admit, you’re committed.” His flippant tone is betrayed by his teeth chattering.

“Oh, you’re not cold? Fine. Stay down there.”

“I’m fucking turning to ice. Scoot over.”

Reno stands and throws the cotton blanket over Rude on the bed, not wanting to lose any source of warmth. Rude scoots towards the wall and holds up the covers so that Reno can slide in. The bed isn’t huge, but it’s big enough for the two of them to lay on their backs, shoulder-to-shoulder without risking Reno falling onto the floor. 

Reno sighs in relief as he lays on the warm spot Rude left behind and Rude lets the covers fall over them. At first, Rude can feel the cold radiating off of Reno’s limbs, but with two of them in the bed it warms quickly. Before long, Reno’s teeth stop chattering and he finally uncrosses his arms to relax. 

Rude can’t remember the last time he felt this warm. It’s almost too much heat, but he’ll take it after weeks of damp and cold. He thought it would be uncomfortable having someone else in his bed—that he’d give up a good night’s sleep in order to help Reno—but it’s actually nice. Relaxing. Maybe Rude was more worried about Reno than he realized, but having him here, warm and safe in Rude’s bed, is comforting.

Reno’s voice is small and so sleepy his words are almost slurred. “Thanks, Rude.”

“No prob.”

* * *

The cold sticks and Reno comes back each night. The second night he hesitates by the window toeing off his boots until Rude turns back the covers and says, “Well come on then, you know I’m only in this to get you into bed.”

Reno snickers and says, “No homo,” as he slides beneath the covers and sighs. “Fuck Rude, I gotta admit it’s nice having you warm up the bed for me.”

Rude laughs. “Well, two’s a lot warmer than one so at least there’s something in it for me.”

“I’m a giver.”

Reno shifts onto his side and sighs. He’s still for only a few minutes before he turns the other way. Rude can feel a slight vibration from his fingers tapping lightly on the mattress. His feet shift around and he turns onto his back.

“Not tired?” Rude asks dryly.

“Ha. Sorry. I guess not. It’s too cold to hang out on the street but I don’t usually sleep two nights in a row.”

“You… don’t?”

“Ehh. Well, I don’t keep a regular sleep schedule, anyway. A lot of important stuff happens at night.”

“Like what?” Rude can only imagine what Reno gets up to at night.

“Stuff you don’t need to worry your sweet head about, baby.” Reno bops Rude on the nose like a child and Rude smacks his hand away in annoyance.

“I’m older than you are, dick. I have a _jo_ _b_ _.”_

“Pshhh. None of that shit matters. What are you, seventeen? Who cares.”

“I’m still older than you. _You’re_ the baby. Are you really even fifteen?”

“Shut it, Rude.” Reno reaches over and gives him a pinch on the waist that leaves Rude squirming back. “Just ‘cuz I’m not tall and built like a brick shithouse. Yeah I’m fuckin’ fifteen.”

“Well you look twelve,” Rude teases. He tries to pinch back but Reno is expecting it and is too fast. He shoves Rude’s hands away and pinches him again, hard on the hip. Rude nearly shouts before he remembers to muffle himself and Reno snickers, hands ready to do it again.

“I give up,” Rude whispers, not wanting to risk either another pinch or alerting his mom, and they lay still for a while. It’s late and he’s tired, but Rude remembers a question he wanted to ask. “When is your birthday anyway?” he murmurs drowsily.

Reno is silent for so long Rude wonders if he’s fallen asleep. But then he hears the soft sound of Reno swallowing.

His voice is quiet in the cold air. “I… I think it’s in the spring.”

The third night Reno’s so quiet Rude doesn’t wake up when he comes in. He does wake up early, early in the morning when the light has barely begun filtering in his window, gray and cool. Everything is so still Rude feels as if time is frozen and if he moves, it will shatter.

Reno is curled up on his side with his knees brushing against Rude’s thigh and his forehead resting against Rude’s shoulder. Rude lays perfectly still with his eyes closed and listens to Reno breathe until his alarm goes off. 

It’s only five days total, that Reno shares Rude’s bed. By the first of February, the weather finally turns warmer and drier. Reno stops coming at night and shifts back to his random, daytime sleeping schedule. He does, however, start staying late to eat with Rude more often. 

* * *

It’s late on a Friday when Rude gets home, exhausted from a long week and an evening spent taking blows at the boxing gym. He rinses off the sweat of the day and heads into his room. 

He has about two hours until he’ll go to pick up his mom from work to walk her home. He flops on the bed, which is as tidy as it was when he left it this morning. No Reno today.

Rude’s mind falls into well-established patterns. He’s relaxed. He’s alone. His hand slides beneath his waistband to find his dick, already half hard. 

There are plenty of go-to images, stored in Rude’s head. That one math teacher who wore low-cut blouses. A SOLDIER-themed pinup magazine he found in his dad’s nightstand. The pretty redhead who works in the noodle shop near work. 

And suddenly it occurs to Rude that Reno spends a lot of time here. Alone in his room. In his bed. And he probably gets up to the same things that Rude does.

Reno. Jerking off. In his bed.

Rude’s breath burns in his chest as the idea runs through his head, vivid as a play. Reno climbing in his window in the middle of the day when there’s no one in the apartment. Laying back on Rude’s bed with his head on Rude’s pillow. 

Rude turns off the light and lays back on the bed himself, slipping his shorts down to his thighs.

Reno wouldn’t undress. He’d probably just unbutton and unzip the scuffed jeans he always wears, push down the front of his boxers and pull himself out, cock soft, but already stiffening. And then he’d stroke himself with his fingertips—just like Rude is doing right now—circling over the head, teasing back the foreskin until he’s hard.

He’d go slowly at first. Rude tries using his left hand—Reno is left-handed—and it almost feels like someone else touching him. He wraps his hand around himself and strokes firmly to the tip. 

He wonders if Reno is uncut like he is. Wonders if his cock flushes pink like his cheeks after two beers. Wonders if Reno touches himself like this in Rude’s bed. Just like this.

Maybe he does. Maybe he does it every time he sleeps here. _Who doesn’t like to jerk off_ _b_ _efore they sleep?_

Rude’s hand rises over the head again and a soft sound slips past the back of his throat. _Does Reno make noise?_ When the apartment is empty, maybe he moans and whimpers in Rude’s bed until it’s too much and he has to ruck up his shirt so he can come on his stomach.

Rude’s dick jerks at the thought of Reno coming in his bed. Coming on himself. Accidentally getting some on Rude’s sheets.

Lightheaded, Rude twists his hand up and down over hot flesh, controlling his pace. He’s so hard it’s painful but he doesn’t want to come yet. 

Maybe one day he might come home a little early. Reno wouldn’t hear him and Rude wouldn’t know he was here. Wouldn’t expect him to be here. 

Rude would come into his bedroom… and see… and it would be too late to stop. Reno’s head would already be tipping backwards… his fingers twisting in the sheets… his mouth parting, hand squeezing…

Rude can’t hold off any longer. His balls tighten and he spurts onto his stomach, pressing his right wrist to his own mouth to keep from crying out.

* * *

  
The very next day, Rude returns home from the corner store and hears a strange sound from his bedroom as he’s putting away groceries. It sets him on high alert because Reno never comes on the weekends. Rude doesn’t work and his mom sometimes takes a day off as well—although right now she’s at the restaurant.

Rude creeps to his door—closed like always—and listens. His mind returns to yesterday’s fantasy and he can’t help the fact that his dick is stiffening in his pants as he draws closer. An erection isn’t going to help if it’s actually a burglar.

What he hears is unexpected. It sounds like crying.

Rude calls out, concerned. “Reno?”

There’s no response so he opens the door and looks in. He naturally looks to the bed first, but it’s empty. Then he sees Reno, curled into himself on the floor under the window. His legs are pulled in tight to his chest and his head is tucked down onto his knees. He’s sniffling.

Rude approaches with slow steps, unsure how to handle this. “Hey. Reno… what’s wrong?”

Reno glances up at him. His face is streaked with tears but what’s much more alarming is that Rude can see now that Reno is covered in blood. It’s splattered across his shirt and streaking pink across his face, mixed with tears.

“Shit.” Rude is down on his knees in an instant, trying to push Reno’s shoulders back to see his injuries. Reno only curls up tighter, tucking his head back down.

“It’s not mine,” he says, voice muffled by his knees. “Not much of it, anyway.”

Rude removes his hands and sits back on his heels. “What happened?” 

Reno shakes his head and Rude feels terrible when he starts crying again. Painful, choked sobs that tear out of his chest even though he’s trying to stop with each gasping breath. Rude lays a hand on his shoulder and Reno cries harder so Rude takes it back and sits against the wall next to Reno, hips close, but not touching. Waiting.

Waiting until Reno tapers off, sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeves. He keeps his head tucked down. 

“I just…” his voice catches and he stops speaking for a minute. Gulps. “I can’t go home… any more.”

Rude lets that sink in. He has no idea what Reno’s home was even like, anyway. If he ever went there. Slept there. In all the time they have spent together, Reno has shared so little about his own life. Only the most basic scraps. 

“You can come here,” he says. “Just come here. It’s fine. I don’t care if you come at night even. You could stop being nocturnal,” he jokes lightly. “It’s fine.”

Reno takes a few shuddering breaths.

“Okay.”


	5. April '95

Rude smiles when Reno climbs through his window. The clock says midnight, which is early for Reno. Rude keeps his eyes closed and he can’t hear so much as a whisper although he knows Reno is creeping through the room. No wonder Reno can slip into bed with Rude completely unnoticed. He moves like a ghost.

Reno’s voice is quiet but wry. “You’re awake, huh?”

“How’d you know?” Rude asks.

“I know things.”

Things about Rude sleeping, apparently. Rude wonders what he does when he’s sleeping that makes it so easy for Reno to tell when he’s awake. Reno always knows.

“You know what yesterday was?” Rude asks.

“What?”

“The first day of spring.”

“So? Like the seasons even matter under the plate.”

“So what do you want for your birthday?”

Rude can sense Reno rolling his eyes as he climbs into the bed so smoothly Rude’s weight barely shifts. “You are such a sap. Birthdays are for kids.”

“Kids like you.” Rude ruffles Reno’s messy hair and gets his hand slapped away. “Seriously, what do you want?” Rude has thought about this quite a bit. More than might be reasonable—and he still hasn’t been able to come up with anything. He can think of a hundred things Reno _needs._ New shoes. A haircut (although Rude kinda likes the way his hair falls in his face). A good razor.

But Reno would be pissed to receive any of those things from Rude. He doesn’t like charity. And so Rude resolved to just ask him. 

But that isn’t going over well either.

“Rude,” Reno sounds irritated. “You already do too much for me. You don’t gotta get me anything, man. I don’t even know when my birthday really is. It’s stupid.” Reno shifts onto his side facing away. Rude is afraid he’ll leave. Go and spend the night on the street somewhere since Rude’s made him uncomfortable. He’s only here a few nights each week anyway, and Rude has no idea where else he goes.

“Sorry. Forget it.” Rude touches Reno’s shoulder once in apology and closes his eyes. Better to just be quiet and sleep when Reno is pissed.

But he’s still paying attention, and he can tell when Reno relaxes. When the angle of his shoulder softens slightly so that he sinks deeper in to the bed. His breathing gets slower after a soft sigh. The exhale barely resonant enough to reach Rude’s ears. It’s a comforting sound—Reno relaxing.

He’s surprised when Reno turns back around to face him, eyes open. White teeth flash in the darkness. A grin Rude knows. “You really wanna do something for me?”

 _Uh oh._ Rude can’t imagine what Reno has in mind. “Yes…” he says, but with some hesitation.

“Come out with me.” Reno’s eyes are shadowed but Rude can imagine the gleam. “Come out and party with me for my birthday.”

"With your friends?”

“What friends?”

“Whoever I see you with on the street.”

“Those aren’t friends. That’s business.”

 _Huh._ Rude considers, but not for very long. “Okay.”

“That’s it? You will?” Reno sounds surprised.

“Yeah. If that’s what you want.” The idea sparks something in Rude’s gut. He and Reno have such an odd relationship, lived mostly in Rude’s bedroom. It’s exciting to think about going out with Reno and seeing what he’s like out in the world. In his element.

“Shit. I thought that’d be harder.” Reno hums a bit. “I should have started by asking you to do tabs with me.”

“No, Reno.”

Reno laughs at him quietly. “You’re such a baby.”

“Good _night,_ Reno.”

“Good night, baby.”

* * *

That Friday, Rude waits in his room for Reno to come up the fire escape. It’s unusual for him to know when Reno is coming—usually, he just shows up without warning—and Rude is antsy. Excited. He has no idea what’s actually going to happen tonight. 

He’s wearing a black button-down shirt and a new pair of jeans. He tells himself he needed the excuse to buy them anyway since most of his pants were growing too short or too threadbare.

It’s nearly midnight. His mother is already home and asleep and Rude has conflicted feelings about sneaking out on her. But the excitement of a night out is too much to resist. Rude has never been to a bar in his life, and he can only imagine what Reno might get up to… and bring him along for the ride.

He’d relieved when Reno arrives on the fire escape, tapping on the glass. Rude opens the window himself and winces as it squeaks loudly. Reno snickers at him.

“How are you always so quiet?” Rude grumbles.

“Skills, man. Skills you don’t have, apparently.”

Reno reaches a hand out to help Rude climb through the window—an awkward fit given how broad his shoulders have grown. Rude blinks as he realizes he’s never climbed out the window before. Their relationship has always been Reno coming into Rude’s space. Never the reverse. Rude feels a small thrill to think that he’s going out into Reno’s world tonight.

Plus, he’s never in his life snuck out before. His heart is already fluttering like a bird in his chest, just standing on the fire escape landing.

“Nervous?” Reno teases.

“Nah,” Rude lies. And then flushes when Reno gives him a glance that cuts right through him.

“You ever even been out this late before, son?”

“Shut up, Reno. You wanna do this or not?”

Reno grins, broad and white. Eyes mischievous and happy and bright.

“Indulge me,” he says, sprawling gracefully on the top step of the stairs. Rude sits next to him and wonders what they’re doing hanging out on the fire escape in a dark alley.

It all becomes clear when Reno pulls a flask out of his jacket. He offers it to Rude. “First we finish this. Then we go out.”

“It’s your party,” Rude replies, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. Rude raises the flask, full and heavy, to his lips and takes a long pull. It tastes truly terrible. Like trees or bark or pine needles or dirt or something that absolutely shouldn’t be consumed. It’s also fizzy. He tries not to cough as the smell alone burns his lungs. Takes a second mouthful to try and flush the first down his throat. “What is this?” he asks, disgusted. It does make his chest very warm.

Reno laughs as grabs the flask out of Rude’s hands and takes a pull. “It’s scotch and a little bit of soda. I actually got the good stuff. Just for you, bud.”

Rude wrinkles his nose and takes the flask back. If they’re gonna drink the whole thing he wants to get it over with. Can’t help but cough this time. It doesn’t matter. Reno already knows Rude doesn’t drink much. “If this is the good stuff, I don’t know where we go from here.”

“I know ya don’t,” Reno bats back with a smirk. “Baby.” He drinks again. “Don’t worry, it gets better the more you drink.”

“I hope so.”

Twenty minutes later Rude feels as happy and bright as Reno’s smile as they stroll into a part of Sector 6 that Rude never visits. There’s a pleasant warmth humming through his veins and everything happening around him seems a bit more fun. A bit more exciting and interesting. As they approach a club Reno walks ahead to chat up the doorman. Rude admires the way he prowls down the street, completely at home even in the seedier parts of the slums. Reno looks confident and savvy, unlike Rude who suspects that _he_ is just barely buzzed and relaxed enough to not stand out like a sore thumb.

Maybe it’s the way Reno slouches, hands tucked in his pockets, like he’s ready to pull a knife on you. Or maybe it’s the sloppy way he dresses. Reno is in some of his best clothes tonight—the holes in his jeans look like style rather than poverty and his shirt is clean, though untucked and wrinkled. Or it could just be the spark in his eyes which reads somewhere between _murderer_ and a _hell of a good time_. Reno is in his element and Rude likes seeing it.

They’re motioned into the club by the doorman after a brief exchange of words and clasped hands.

“Did you bribe him?” Rude asks.

“‘Course I did. Neither one of us even _looks_ old enough.”

Rude bristles. “I could have done it.”

“You pay for drinks,” Reno smiles. “But I pick ‘em.”

“It’s your night,” Rude allows.

The evening passes in flashes. Noisy. Colorful. Rousing.

Fluorescent green shots glow in the strobe lights. They taste like watermelon candy. Too sweet for Rude, so Reno orders tequila shots to follow them. Rude doesn’t like that either.

Then it’s Reno’s hand on his bicep, towing him to play darts, back to the bar, then up to the balcony to look down at the dance floor. They point out the hottest girls to each other, the angle from above proving particularly useful. They lean over the balustrade with their faces close together, laughing and speaking with their lips almost brushing each others’ ears. Cheeks brushing shoulders as their eyes follow along arms, shamelessly pointing out dancers below.

Later, he’s holding on to Reno’s ponytail (when did it get so long?) to keep track of him in the crowd as they wind their way down twisty stairs, pushing between sweaty bodies.

They’re back at the bar and Reno’s ordering something different again, saying he’s going to find _something_ that Rude likes. Rude wonders how drunk he’ll be when that finally happens and pulls out his gil without a second thought. Tonight, he’s here for Reno. And he can’t remember ever having so much fun.

“Gin sour,” Reno says as he pushing another cold, wet glass into Rude’s hand.

“Not bad,” Rude says after his first sip.

Reno narrows his eyes at him. “Not sure you’re reliable, this many drinks in. But I’ll call it a success.” He catches Rude rubbing his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already?”

“Nah, it’s just the lights. Give me a headache.” The bar is close to the dance floor and the colors throb with the music—green and red and purple and blue.

“Hold on, big boy. I’ll be right back.” Reno pats him on the shoulder and shimmies onto the dance floor, which swallows him like an ocean. Rude is too warm and relaxed to worry about it. He feels like he’s living at the very edge of his skin and every vibrating beat of the music, every pulse of the lights, is a caress.

Some minutes later, Reno sidles back up to him at the bar, moving through the churn with ease.

“Ok Rude, let’s see here…” He snaps out a pair of sunglasses. Rude doesn’t even get a look at them before Reno slides them onto his face.

“Nope,” Reno says instantly. He pulls ‘em off and drops them onto the floor. Grabs another pair out of his back pocket and puts them on Rude. “Maybe…” he says thoughtfully. Pulls out a third pair and switches them out. He looks at Rude intently and Rude suppresses a laugh at how seriously Reno is taking this decision.

“I feel like a model.”

“Fuck, Rude. You look like a model. I’m just trying to help us catch some tail here.” He puts pair number two back on Rude’s face and nods approvingly. “That’s the ticket. Whaddya like, bud?”

Rude isn’t sure he heard the words clearly over the music. “Huh?”

Reno loops an arm around Rude’s neck to pull him closer. “Girls. Brunettes? Blondes? Tall? Big tits?”

Rude gazes out over the writhing mass of bodies. He isn’t feeling particularly picky right now. “Tall brunettes?” He offers indecisively.

“Can you dance?”

“Uh…”

“Nevermind,” Reno answers waving his hand dismissively. “We’re dancing. I have a good feeling about tonight.” His eyes are scanning the dance floor with more acuity and focus than Rude could pull together right now.

Reno gulps down his own drink and grimaces. “Drink up!” he nudges Rude’s arm.

The minute Rude sets his empty glass on the counter Reno pulls Rude’s hand onto the back of his shoulder and leads them out into the throng.

Rude hasn’t danced a step in his life but it seems like a surprisingly natural thing to do when his blood is half booze and the beat is vibrating in his bones and he’s pressed between so many other bodies thrumming with energy.

Reno is a natural. He slides them right into the thick of it, slipping past bodies like he’s made of oil and pulling Rude along with him until they’re deep in the mix. He dances with a hazy smile on his face, eyes half-closed, hands in his hair or on his hips or sometimes even on Rude, which surprises him. It’s not too much though. Just a touch on his shoulder or a press against his back. He gets the idea that Reno is easing him in. Warming him up. It’s working.

And it’s not too long before Reno taps him more firmly on the shoulder and motions to the left with a tilt of his head. It’s too loud to talk and Rude can’t focus enough to figure out who or what he’s indicating, but it’s Reno’s night and Rude’s up for anything at this point. So he nods.

Reno bops off through the crowd and Rude tries to keep up. It’s a challenge. He’s a lot bigger than Reno, and whatever trick Reno’s using to slip through the dancers, Rude hasn’t learned it yet. He’s afraid he’s lost Reno when a hand grabs him by the waistband of his pants and pull him backwards.

He stumbles laughing into Reno who has his other arm snaked around the midsection of pretty blond and a wide smile on his face as he inclines his head at her equally pretty friend. A tall brunette, just as Rude ordered.

They dance together for a while, shifting around the pairings enough that Rude gets a good look at exactly how flirtatious Reno can be. His hands flit all over, stroking necks and shoulders, slipping in along bare skin as shirts ride up, gliding over hips. Rude wonders how far he’s going to take it, but with the song change, Reno gives the girls a wink and pulls Rude off in another direction. All the way out off the dance floor.

“They weren’t friendly enough,” Reno yells as he tows Rude towards the back of the club. “C’mon, I gotta piss anyway.”

They pee into what looks like a giant trough, rinse their hands, and dry them on their pants. Reno’s talking the whole time. “Listen Rude, you gotta get a little more handsy, ok? You know what I mean? Ya gotta warm ‘em up and see if they’re ready for some fun or if they’re just here to dance.”

Rude makes a noncommital sound in his throat.

“C’mon you’ve had some action before, right? I know you’re a momma’s boy and all, but you got all the height and muscle going for ya. You here with me? I can’t get us taken care of unless you carry your weight.”

“Sorry, Reno.” Rude rolls his eyes. “I’ll be sure to grope them.”

“I’m not sayin’ get smacked,” Reno retorts. “Just push a little. You know most of ‘em are here for the same reason we are, right? I dunno about you but I’d love to get blown tonight.”

That penetrates the fog in Rude’s brain a little bit. _What? Where would that happen?_

Reno’s pulling him back on the dance floor before he can ask any more questions. They move around constantly, Reno searching for something in particular. As he was coached, Rude starts acting a bit more forward and it goes pretty well. The first girl seems to like Rude’s hands on her hips so much she presses back against him with enough friction he thinks he could come just from grinding against her ass. And in his alcohol-soaked state, with the music like a caress on his neck, that doesn’t seem like a bad idea.

It takes a lot of resolve for Rude to tear his hands off her warm skin when Reno grabs his bicep.

“Sorry!” Reno yells, towing Rude through the crowd. “Her friend didn’t like me.” Rude goes along out of loyalty, panting and tamping down his irritation.

They hit up a few other pairs and Rude thinks he’s starting to get good at this. He doesn’t know how long he’s been hard at this point, but the way the curvy, dark-haired girl in front of him is rocking her ass against his cock is absolute heaven. She’s tall enough to lean her head back on Rude’s shoulder and her arms are reaching back around his neck. Rude can see down the front of her shiny gold dress all the way to her belly button. He looks up to see how Reno is doing, only inches away in the sea of bodies.

Very well, apparently. He’s got his tongue in someone’s mouth and his hand down the back of her pants. The girl whose lips are pressed to Reno’s has bright red hair cut short, an ear full of piercings, and seems very happy with the way he’s rocking her pelvis against his thigh with the beat of the music. Their legs are intertwined and Rude has never seen anyone so close to having sex in public before.

Somehow, he gets harder. Rude’s arms slide around his partner’s ribs, pulling her flush against him, pressing hard enough to provoke a small yelp.

Reno disengages for a minute to look up at Rude with a sly, pleased look in his eyes. Rude can see the redhead now and she’s very pretty with dark-lined eyes and lips red from kissing. She tips her head as Reno whispers in her ear and raises an eyebrow at her friend—the one who is sliding her fingers up the back of Rude’s neck to feel the texture of his hair.

Somehow, without discussion, a decision is made. Reno grabs the redhead’s head. She grabs the brunette’s who grabs Rude’s and Reno pulls them all off the dance floor in a long, winding chain.

Reno leads them into the back of the club and through an unmarked door. They pile through, stumbling and laughing, into an alley.

“Now you gorgeous things,” Reno begins before Rude is even fully upright. Reno’s hands are all over the redhead. Sliding under her shirt, blatantly cupping her breasts as he pushes against her back.

“I know that ladies come first and all, and I try to be a gentleman, just like my buddy here.” The brunette has turned to face Rude and is sucking on his neck. He grabs her ass because it seems like the thing to do.

“But ya see, today is my birthday, honest to Odin…” Rude can see Reno stroking over the redhead’s nipples and she moans “… so could the guys… maybe go first?”

The redhead tilts her mouth into a wry grin and spins in Reno’s arms. She pushes him backwards until his shoulders meet the wall and drops to her knees. At that point, Rude stops paying attention because the brunette in front of him goes up on her toes to bring their mouths together.

She tastes like alcohol and that taste is really starting to grow on Rude. He draws her closer, pressing her tits against his chest, pulling her upwards to get more friction where he needs it. Rude shifts his thigh between her legs and hikes up the back of her dress so that he can cup her round ass and press her against his throbbing dick.

Rude’s afraid he’s going to cum in his pants before things even get started, but, blessedly, the girl gives him one last kiss and slides down to her knees in front of him. Knocking his head back against the wall, Rude looks upward at the dim lights of the plate to thank whatever gods have blessed him tonight.

His pants are opened and gentle fingers hike down his boxers to pull out his cock. The relief is immense and he lets out an embarrassing moan when she slides her hot, wet mouth over him.

“You’re so big,” she says, breath hot against his cock, and Rude doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands either. Or if he should move his hips or stay still.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the slide of soft hands up and down his shaft. Her tongue gliding underneath the head. Rude has no idea if this girl is any good or not, but he is grateful. Her mouth is warm and eager and he’s been hard for hours, but it feels like he just can’t seem to catch the wave of arousal he needs to actually come.

His cock softens slightly as he starts getting worried about it. He’s had so much booze tonight too, and maybe that’s a factor. And then Rude starts getting _really_ worried about how awkward it’s going to be to _not_ come in this alley with _three other people_. He can imagine Reno and the redhead waiting awkwardly for him to finish.

The girl redoubles her effort, speeding up her hands.

Rude opens his eyes in frustration. The alley is dark enough that he can’t see Reno well. His face is fully in shadow although his pale hands, worked through the girl’s bright red hair, catch a bit of light.

But Rude realizes he can _hear_ Reno. Small sounds and whispered words almost hidden under the pulse of music from the club.

_Fuck, baby._

_Your mouth feels so good._

_Uhhnn_ _… just like that. Just like that…_

Rude swallows and his cock hardens in the brunette’s mouth. She moans around him and that helps even more. Reno gets quiet for a bit. No words, but if Rude _really_ pays attention he can hear Reno’s breath when it stutters in his throat. He sees the long fingers stroke through the redhead’s short hair. And then a plea.

_Can… can I…_

Rude doesn’t know what Reno’s asking, but he sees Reno’s hands slide to the back of her head, holding the redhead still. Rude realizes Reno is gripping her hair and fucking into her mouth himself.

They moan at the same time—Rude’s deeper voice echoing Reno’s—and Rude feels the mounting pressure of an imminent orgasm. Suddenly, he doesn’t want it to end. Wants to stay on the edge of pleasure forever listening to Reno’s breath hitch. Wants to hear him call her _baby_ once more.

But then he hears Reno come. That choked, sweet sound could only mean one thing and the wave crashes over Rude too, leaving him gasping for breath. Rude has no time to give warning except for one whispered _fuck_ before he spills into the brunette’s mouth, hips jerking involuntarily, hands pressed against a rough brick wall.

It’s sloppy and awkward and more public than Rude would prefer. And yet, it’s definitely one of the best orgasms of his life. Rude’s eyes are heavy-lidded, focused on the shadows across the alley as his legs shake with the last few tremors of pleasure. Reno’s panting breath echoes back to him and Rude wonders if Reno is looking at him. 

It’s too dark to tell, but then he can see Reno begin moving across the alley and Rude realizes that he is supposed to be taking care of someone too.

Rude helps the brunette back to her feet and turns them to put her back against the wall. He whispers a _thank you_ and kisses her again, tasting his own semen in her mouth. It surprises him, but it’s not off-putting.

He strokes a hand up between her thighs and is rewarded with a pleased hum. Slides his fingers under her panties to find slick, wet warmth. Rude knows hands aren’t quite the same as mouths, but he’s not sure of the logistics of going down on a girl in an alley. And also… he’s never done it before. He’s really only done _this_ a few times, but he’s going to give it his inebriated best.

Rude slides his thumb up to rub where he thinks her clit is, but gets a pained hiss in response. _Ok, too rough._ He strokes his thumb through her labia to get it wet, and then returns with a much softer stroke. That time goes better. Rude’s drunk and achingly tired after coming, but he wants to do right by this girl.

He works up to two fingers twisting inside of her, thumb drawing slow circles on her clit when he hears a sound from behind him that is definitely not sexy. 

He hears Reno say, “Oh _shit,”_ followed by retching.

Rude pauses to look over his shoulder. The brunette peers past him and then sighs and pushes him away slightly. His hand slides out from under her dress.

The redhead is back down on her knees, throwing up on the cement. Reno is crouched down with a hand on her shoulder and a sympathetic look on his face, despite his wrinkled nose.

With an exasperated sigh, the girl who just had Rude’s fingers inside of her steps forward to help. “Oh Ash, you bitch,” she says, not really sounding mad. “Couldn’t you wait until I got off?”

Reno stands up and gives Rude a wry smile. “We’ll bring some water,” he tells the girls as the brunette crouches down to help her friend. “And napkins.”

The two head back in through the metal door, which never closed properly. The sounds and lights in the club are overwhelming after that interlude in the alley. Rude grabs Reno’s arm.

“Hey—I wanna wash my hands.”

Reno snorts. “Don’t wanna smell like pussy all night?” but follows him obligingly into the men’s room. There’s no soap but they both scrub their hands together under cold water, sharing a smile like a secret in the mirror.

Rude follows Reno back to the bar and they ask an irritated bartender for cups of water.

“I kinda thought you might just blow them off,” Rude says.

Reno pretends at an offended look. “I’m not a dick if I don’t have to be. Especially to someone who just blew me.” He pushes a plastic cup into Rude’s hand. “Besides, you need this as much as she does. Drink up.”

They head back out and the relative quiet and darkness of the alley is a relief to Rude’s senses.

They deliver the waters and walk the girls down the alley to the main street, lit by amber lights. The brunette gives Rude an awkward smile as she supports her friend. Reno kisses the redhead on the temple and whispers something that Rude thinks is “happens to all of us.” And the girls are gone.

Rude is wondering what’s next when Reno grabs his arm and pulls him back into the darkness of the alley.

“C’mon, Rude.”

“Please tell me you don’t want to go back in,” Rude says, trying not to whimper.

“Fadin’ fast, huh?” Reno teases. “Nah, I think we got what we needed already. You sober enough to climb?”

 _Climb?_ Rude looks up. There’s a ladder leading to the top of the building, just within reach if one were to stand on a dumpster. Reno’s already clambering up onto it. Rude knows that Reno matched him drink-for-drink the whole night and can’t imagine how he can pour so much alcohol into that skinny frame and still be that agile.

Looking down at him critically, Reno offers, “Maybe you should go first.”

“So I can fall down and take your ass out too?” Rude gives him a tired wave with his hand. “Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

Rude’s not sure how he hauls his exhausted body up to the roof, but he does. By the time he gets there, Reno’s already sitting on the edge with his legs dangling off over the street.

Rude sits next to him. Despite the background hum of noise from the street and the music from the club, it feels like they’re in a little spot of quiet in the big, churning world.

Reno pulls out two cigarettes and lights them both. Takes one from his lips with two fingers and hands it to Rude.

“Ya gotta smoke on a night like this.”

Rude doesn’t reply. He just puts it to his own lips and breaths in slowly. It smells like Reno when he creeps in at 3am and Rude pulls that scent into his lungs. The smoke is warm and ticklish, but his nerves are so dampened with alcohol he’s able to suppress the cough easily.

Reno’s surprised as he takes his second drag. “You smoked before?”

“No.”

“Well you’re a natural. Who’da thought?”

Rude blows smoke at him in response. The finish in companionable silence. Rude throws his butt down to the street and lays back on the roof. He’s tired and the world is very wonderful, but also, it’s moving a bit too fast. He likes the faint vibration of the music below, pulsing against his back. He likes the smell of smoke. He likes the lines of Reno’s shoulders.

Reno lights up another one.

“So, was that your first blow job Mr. _Big Dick?”_ he asks, still facing the street.

“Yeah.” Rude is too tired to dance around it.

“Was she any good?”

“What the fuck do I know? I came…”

“Guess that’s good enough,” Reno allows. “I’m surprised a big guy like you hasn’t had a girl before.”

Rude grunts. “I had a girlfriend a while back. We did stuff. Just didn’t get to mouths.”

Reno laughs. “You’re such an innocent. Gettin’ handies.”

“I was only fourteen,” Rude protests.

“Only fourteen, huh? You know what I’d done at fourteen, baby?”

Rude doesn’t reply. He looks at the back of Reno’s head, silhouetted against the dim lights from under the plate and the neon reflecting back from the sign below their feet. His straight nose and the shape of his lips as he blows out smoke. His eyelashes as he looks down at the street. Maybe Rude doesn’t want to know the answer.

“A lot,” Reno finishes with a sharp laugh. He throws the butt of his cigarette over the edge and sprawls back next to Rude.

Their breath is slow and heavy as they look up at the small, dim lights illuminating the service walkways under the plate.

“You ever been out of the city, Reno? Seen stars?”

“Nah. Why bother when there’s all this beauty right here,” Reno replies, dripping with sarcasm. “You?”

“A few times. It’s pretty.” Rude can remember the last family vacation his dad took them on. Kalm in the fall. It had been years ago, before things started getting even worse at work. And worse at home. It had been nice, pretending to be a happy family away from Midgar.

Reno doesn’t reply. Rude feels silly for even asking. How would Reno have ever left the city? He probably hasn’t even been topside.

“Did you have a good birthday?” Rude asks, changing the subject. He turns his head to see Reno, laying shoulder to shoulder with him on the dirty roof. Reno turns to smile at him, easy and relaxed, and Rude warms at receiving that much affection from Reno. It’s not the usual smile.

“The best, buddy. My very best.”

**Author's Note:**

> My very explicit twitter: [ @lemondroplan ](https://twitter.com/LemonDropLan)


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